


See Me

by UnaghKunn



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Birthday Sex, Birthday Spankings, F/M, Light D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnaghKunn/pseuds/UnaghKunn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Emmy receives a curious note on her birthday... (Follow up to Rump Roast)</p>
            </blockquote>





	See Me

**See Me**

Many months had passed by, taking with them puzzles, adventures, laughter, cheer, and Emmy’s memory of the Professor’s birthday. She had demonstrated an old tradition – the “rump roast”, leaning Professor Layton over his own desk to administer a spanking. He was, of course, rewarded for his bravery and strength in facing it – but it had also made him rather less than keen on sitting down for the next two days, much to the bewilderment of his young apprentice!

So it was that Emmy was rather puzzled to find a hand-written summons in her dovecote at the university one morning. The Professor was usually so busy that he simply didn’t have time to invite people to his office, much less writing a note specifically requesting their presence. The note itself was short, and to the point:

“ _See me._

-          _H. Layton.”_

It vaguely reminded Emmy of her primary school days, when teachers would occasionally individually attend to mistakes or problems in the work handed in by pupils. Had she done something wrong? She wondered. Perhaps she had simply filed something incorrectly by accident, or maybe there was an errand to be run. Emmy slipped the note into her pocket, and headed down the corridor to the Professor’s office.

Entering the room without knocking – she was, after all, his assistant – Emmy found Layton sipping a mug of tea, sat on the couch with a newspaper, solving that morning’s Sudoku. Nothing out of the ordinary. He smiled up at her.

“Good morning, Emmy,” the Professor greeted her. “There’s tea still left in the pot if you’d like some before classes start.”

For the first time, Emmy found herself giving him an expression commonly described as being akin to a deer about to meet its maker, tilting her head to one side. He seemed awfully nonchalant for someone who had written such a terse note. Layton mirrored her look, studying her with a frown.

“Is everything alright, my dear?” His voice seemed concerned, becoming slightly gravelly.

“It’s just…” Emmy fished in her pockets for the note, and then unfolded it. “I found this note in my inbox just now…”

Upon passing it to Layton, he set his newspaper and pen aside, taking the piece of paper, and glancing at it. “Ah.”

“Ah?” Emmy questioned, then frowned. “Professor, I’m not in trouble or –“

“No, no,” Layton  laughed softly. “Not at all, my dear.” He slipped the piece of paper into his pocket and lifted his mug by its rim, setting it down on the coffee table, along with his newspaper and pen. “Please, close the door, however – we do need to talk, Emmy.”

Emmy blinked. Whatever followed those words usually wasn’t good, but nonetheless, she closed the office door, locking it for good measure so that they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Layton nodded to the space next to him on the couch. “Take a seat, my dear.”

It was so strangely out of character for the Professor to be so… mysterious about his intentions, Emmy reflected as she sat down. Whatever was going on?

“Emmy, it has come to my attention that… today might be special for you…”

Emmy’s jaw dropped. “Is _that_ what this is about?” Yes, it was her birthday, but… why the sudden strange behaviour…?

Layton smiled. It was hard to be annoyed, she had to admit, when his eyes sparkled in amusement. “Please, allow me to finish.” Emmy just folded her arms, tamping down the urge to question.

“Thank you,” the Professor responded. “As I was saying, it has come to my attention that today is a special day for you, Emmy. I… should like to share a tradition with you that you once shared with me—“

Layton was interrupted by Emmy laughing. Her face coloured, warming with embarrassment and amusement. “Oh… I… I thought…. You actually remembered?”

“It was hard to forget being unable to sit down for several days after, Emmy,” the Professor countered with a chortle. Emmy shook her head. That had indeed been what she had meant, but thinking on it, she realized that her assumption had been slightly foolish, and instead added:

“No, I meant… you remembered my birthday.”

Layton’s response was simply to give her a look that seemed stern – although there was still a glimmer of humour in his eyes. “I should add, Miss Altava, that white lies may only heighten the severity of your sentence.”

Emmy ducked her head at that. He had totally and completely seen through her, and was willing to mete out the treatment which she had given him on his birthday. Something in that made her stomach seem to flop over, as dread suddenly descended.

As if noticing, the Professor gently squeezed her hand. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Emmy looked up at him, meeting the concerned gaze and warmth in his eyes. How could she ever be afraid of him, she wondered? After all, the tradition was one she had shared with him all those months ago.

“If I shout ‘red’, will you stop?” She asked. At least knowing she had control over the situation assuaged the anxiety still rolling through her brain.

“Always,” Layton nodded. “A True Gentleman puts a lady’s needs first.”

Emmy simply nodded in response, shifting to push her trousers and underwear down, and then leaned over the Professor’s knees. A warm hand rested on her back, and his right hand lightly rested on her backside as she moved into position. Then, suddenly, Layton gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. She tried to glance up over her shoulder to him.

“Professor? Are you alright?”

“I just realized… this might be slightly awkward for us both. After all, a True Gentleman never asks a lady’s age.”

Emmy laughed softly, shaking her head. “I’m turning 27, Professor.”

“So, twenty seven strikes, plus one for good luck. Does that sound correct to you?”

“Sounds good to me, Professor.”

“I’m not entirely certain you will agree with that sentiment later,” Layton murmured, and then his voice turned slightly more serious as he lightly rubbed circles on her bum. “Remember you can still say no.”

Emmy nodded. She had her safe word. She had control over the situation. The Professor would never do something that would hurt her. With that in mind, she finally spoke up. “I trust you.”

From above, there was silence. The hand that had been caressing her backside moved away, exposing her rear to cool air. Nothing happened. She shivered slightly, goosebumps rising on her skin, and then –

CRACK!

The Professor’s hand came down hard on her sit-spot.

Emmy inhaled sharply.

He had been heightening her anticipation, making her wait, which only made the first strike all the more searing. Yet, his hand on her back was warm, and he rubbed gently, soothingly. The juxtaposition of sensations – soft, comforting movements, versus harsh, painful swats to her rear – was… odd, to say the least, and yet… even they had rhythm to them, falling as the warmth spread across her thighs, up into her back, and awakening an ever so slightly maddening tickle between her legs -- she couldn’t address it with her hands out in front, and trying to shift to squeeze her legs to fix it didn’t seem to do much. Neither did clenching her stomach muscles.

If Layton realized, he didn’t mention, continuing to pepper her rear with sharp, open-handed blows.

At last, the final stroke fell, with the Professor adding, “and one more for good luck,” to bring the tally to twenty-eight. Emmy bucked with the blow, the friction offering a very brief respite from the itching tickle at her apex, and the ache in her loins. It would, of course, be hard for the Professor to escape how utterly aroused she was, she thought as his hand came to rest on her backside. She moaned softly, leaning her backside into his touch.

“Happy Birthday, Miss Emmy,” Layton said softly, and lightly rubbed her back. “I hope that was… alright?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sit straight for a week, Professor,” Emmy replied, laughter bubbling up from deep inside. “And not just from the ache!”

The Professor’s hand briefly graced the wetness between her legs, circling as Emmy moaned.

“Rest assured, my dear,” Layton said softly, “your bravery has gained you a reward.” He traced a hand across her backside and dipped once more down to her loins, stroking a thumb over her clit. “Which I hope will be as enjoyable as the ‘roast’.”

Emmy found herself murmuring soft nonsense words as the Professor continued to lightly stroke along her entrance, his fingers gently massaging her most sensitive point and then receding to tease elsewhere. Emmy shifted slightly, trying to raise herself a little higher, to lean into his touch.

“You didn’t think I would make this easy for you, did you?” Layton crooned softly, lightly grazing his hand along the pink splotches on her buttocks.

“Nnnnngh….” Emmy winced at the touch, as if her backside had suddenly been set alight. “Professor, please!”

Layton’s soft laughter rumbled through his chest.

“Patience, my dear…” He said quietly as he skated once more around her loins, Emmy’s breath hitching as he teased her entrance. “The anticipation is worth it…”

Emmy barely held back a complaint as his hand shifted away. The Professor smiled, helping her to extricate herself from her position over his knees, so that she could stand up. When he offered her his hand, however, she looked puzzled.

“Come, my dear; your… present… awaits…” Layton’s voice was husky as he spoke, and Emmy glanced down, suddenly realizing why. She laughed softly and returned his smile, taking the Professor’s hand. It would, she guessed, be incredibly hard – she suppressed a giggle at this mental pun – to concentrate with his trousers tented as they were.

He led her to his desk, leaning her over, and parting her legs. Emmy ground against him, against his erection, playfully. The Professor just smiled mischievously. The unmistakeable sound of his belt coming undone, his zipper lowering, brought Emmy to wishing she could just rub up against something to relieve her burning desire. What had the Professor said? She asked herself. That the anticipation would be worth it? She could vaguely hear a condom packet being opened, and there was a soft groan from the Professor as he slid it down over his cock.

There was something cool and wet at her entrance, soothing the heat in Emmy’s genitals, as Layton carefully applied some lubricant.

At last, the Professor’s hand slipped down her front, lightly tickling at her clit as he rubbed some of the cooling lubricant around it. Emmy moaned and jerked back against him, grinding into his being wantonly. He gave a soft chortle, and finally – he slid into her in a fluid movement. There was something textured about the sheath on the Professor’s cock – had he used patterned condoms? He slid back slightly, leaving her in no doubt of this supposition as it moved inside of her, at last scratching the “itch” she had been plagued by for so long. Layton’s hand slid down to her front once more, teasing at Emmy’s clit, while his other hand slid up her front, coming to rest over her breast.

Emmy let loose a soft moan.

“Oh, Professor…”

“Sssh, my dear… no more words…” He murmured back, shifting inside of her. “Just… enjoy… this moment…”

The silence in the room was only broken by the soft sounds of breathing, which became guttural moans and whispers of nonsense words, the fire in Emmy’s loins stoked as the Professor’s friction and pressure within her brought her to ecstasy, sparks to flames, flames to fire, fire… to conflagration as she bucked and moved with him, until at last –

Emmy thought she heard a voice crying out. It didn’t occur that it was her own as she ground into the Professor’s erection in one final movement that made her see stars. She was vaguely aware of the Professor tightening his grip around her to keep her from falling as he pressed into her, continuing to provide that vital friction throughout her body’s jubilant expression of pleasure.

It was a little while before either said anything, regaining their breath and strength after this act of union. At last, Layton gently squeezed Emmy around the waist, and nuzzled at her back.

“Happy birthday, my dear.”

It was, perhaps, the best birthday ever.

**END**


End file.
